Onnashituji: Hell revisited
by Creatoriginsane
Summary: "If love involved pain, blood, and a constant need to win, this would be called sex." Teresa OC , Sebastian, Hell / This is the rewritten 'Onnashisuji'. / ABANDONED. UPDATE INSIDE.
1. Prologue

**Onnashitsuji: Hell Revisited**

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A/N: It's amazing that I've finally the guts to rewrite this (ugly) fic. So, tell me what you think of the general background of the story with a review! I've changed so many things about the plot. I'm trying so desperately to make it—I dunno, dark and seductive? *fails*

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She pushes back against him. "I hope you rot in hell."

He grins devilishly "I'm afraid I already have, my dear."

She rolls her eyes. "Then I hope Glutton devours you whole."

He sighs. "His taste should be quite excellent then."

She wants her eyes to turn into knives. "Pft, you're as presumptuous as ever.."

He chuckles. "And you are as foul as a boar's rear, probably more."

She bites his neck and draws blood. He pulls away and hisses at her mark.

She throws her arms outward. "Look at what you've done!"

There are bodies of rich noblemen from this area in Medieval Italy covering the floor. There is a thin layer of blood splatter on the walls of the room.

He places a hand on the injury, "I have done what I have been told that is all."

She wants to claw his eyes out. "You have cursed me another decade of living in this hideous form, with that whoring man!"

He speaks calmly. "I did nothing of that matter. I'm afraid that you've done a conscious act; instead of fulfilling your duties, you allowed yourself to be idle, and therefore—"

She shouts and attempts to strike at his chest. "Away from me, you arse!"

He glides to the other side of the room, leaving her heaving on the bloodied floor.

She wants him to burn where he stands. "The next century, I will have succeeded you already."

He grins. "It isn't much too long before that. I will see you then."

She scoffs. "And you shall never see anymore."

He is gone before she can chase his lingering scent out of the room.

She screams and prepares herself to postpone her meal of a lustful soul.

* * *

_That was three hundred years ago._

* * *

He observes as she picks up the last, bloodied plate on the floor and places it on the table. "You've been put through Hell on Earth."

The plate shatters into three by her grip. "Hell is much more accommodating than this subordinate realm."

She turns to him, an entirely different human face gracing her scowl; golden hair and green eyes replace her mundane black hair and blue eyes, "Tell me, how have you been? Out foiling the rest of us?"

She wipes the trickling blood from her chin, the blood of the first meal she's had after thirty years. "Forcing us to postpone our long-awaited meals for decades later?"

He stares at her. "Your insatiable hunger precedes you. I can smell the stench from miles away."

He pinches his nose before continuing, "You should have been more careful. Others might share with you."

There was a roar before she could eat away the rest of the body, now drained of its blood.

"Damn you to Hell!" She shouts before she tears a chunk of flesh from the arm.

He is out of her sight before rogue demons from Western France appear before her, hungry and unwilling to reach a compromise.

* * *

_That was two hundred years ago._

* * *

He strides into the room as three bodies come crashing through the ceiling, "I see you've finished."

She stiffens at his voice and whips towards him, with a new face again, this time with auburn hair and brown eyes. "Why are you here?"

She says before stomping her pointed heel to a woman's mangled face.

He strides closer, "I was just curious."

She glares at him and raises a bloodied rapier to his face, "You are in no position to be curious about my ways. Why are you here, anyway?"

He shrugs lightly and ignores her, "I came on my own accord, and I wanted to see how you are doing."

She narrows her eyes and steps closer, the rapier pressing onto his neck, "If you'd rather not be cut from your throat down to your abdomen, I suggest you leave me."

He smirks arrogantly, "And risk such a fine game of chess?" He looks over to the untouched board to the side, "Never."

She is half-startled and half-suspicious of him, "What of it, Michaelis?" It's the first time she's called him by name after centuries. "I'm not one to play your foolish games."

He smile because he already knows her reaction, "Ah, but I wish to form and agreement with you; a deal of sorts."

She is nearly tempted, having formulated ways of twisting his rules; she draws back. She walks over to the bodies she's freshly killed, a greedy trio of siblings in Eastern Germany. "I don't share, Michaelis. We start when I say so."

He smirks as she bites the woman's breast, watching the blood flow to her hungry mouth; he already knows what's bound to happen.

She screams and wipes the entire board clean of its pieces. "Curse you, Michaelis. Curse you a thousand souls to Hell!" She strangles his neck and sits on the checkered board.

He doesn't choke. "I'm far from a thousand, my dear." He takes advantage of the position and pulls her to the ground, fingers pressing into her sides.

"Get off of me, you filthy cheat." She hisses and spits at his face.

He presses his lips to her cheek, biting hard enough to draw blood, "All's fair in love and war."

One of her hands digs its fingers onto his scalp, "This is neither of them."

"Not yet, though." He grins and presses his lips to hold her lower lip, a seductive kiss to some. He bites hard and tears slightly as the flesh.

She screams and scratches his face, clawing at his eyes. Her hand attempts to rip his throat open.

If love involves pain, blood, and a constant need to win, this would be called sex.

* * *

_That was a hundred years ago._

* * *

She's reverted to her physically mundane appearance, although a bit changed. Her black hair was cut sharp and short, with a blue-colored rose embellishment on the left side of her head. Her eyes were still a dark shade of blue. The only thing that is drastically different is her way of dress; from simple peasant robes to heavily decorated frocks, now it was a state of undress.

He lets his eyes fall from her bare shoulders, to her gloved hands, to her corset, to her frilly skirt, to her stockings, to her boots, and finally to her face. "You look different. If it were possible, I think you've already accepted defeat."

She taunts him with a change of weaponry; two identical silver pistols with black trimming and long light blue feathers hanging from the end of its grip.

"Defeat? To you? You might have won before, cheating your way into games." She lifts the gun and aims to shoot at his neck.

"I haven't cheated. I merely deducted all possible movements on the board before you could." He sauntered up to her arm and gently pushed the gun away.

Before he could even brush the fabric of her elbow-high glove, she spun away and retracted her gun. "Tch, I wouldn't waste a bullet on you, but if you continue pestering me I'll shoot fourteen times to your head."

"Still as confident, are we?" He chuckles mockingly.

She notices the redundancy in his outfit; always black and white. "Ah, and you are a slave to the humans as always." She scoffs.

"A butler, if you please, the term you use is an insult."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever works, butler." She puts emphasis on the insult.

"What are you these days, Teresa?" It's the first time in more than five centuries that he's called her by name.

She smirks. "Something far better than you could ever be."

He puts a finger on his chin to mock her, "Whatever could it be?" He mocks her greatly.

Her expressions shrinks into a glare, "Careful with you words, butler. I've killed to win and I'll gladly do it again."

"Try as you may, you can never win against me."

His words are enough to make her charge and pound the barrel of the gun onto his forehead.

"Can you say it again? I didn't quite hear you.." She hisses as her pointed heels stab into his abdomen.

"Your attempts are futile." He says with an evil smile.

He throws her to the wall, and she barely has enough time to use her feet to crash into it. She jumps back, claws his face, and tackles him to the ceiling.

"Swallow your words, butler." She falls back down and shoots to his elbows and ankles before he could fall with her.

He is silent and his pupils become a hellish shade of red. He throws silver cutlery to counter the bullets she shoots as she falls.

She continues to shoot and he continues to throw, the pinned fabric of his jacket and pants starting to tear.

He falls and she lands on the ground. She rises to shoot a precise bullet to his head, but he kicks her cheek before she pulls the trigger.

It's a kick that shatters bone and tears muscle, but she is inhuman as he. They can take much more damage.

"Damn you." She curses as she lies on the floor. He is standing over her.

"You have never lost the fight in you, kitten." He laughs at her and uses a pet name—much to her irritation.

"Hmph, I've got much more fight in me than you've thought." She comments before sliding herself through his feet. She stands and spins to shoot to his back. He jumps high before she could.

"Silver bullets kill wolves, not demons, my dear." He mocks her from above.

She emits a furious war cry from retracting her guns to her back. She jumps upward with fingers poised as sharp daggers.

"Of course," She replies coldly before scratching, stabbing, and slashing him—attempting to, actually. "Where have you been?" She gives herself a small victory as her kick lands on his hip, and he crashes to the ground.

She lands in front of him with the grace of a dying moth, "Silver bullets are used to injure permanently. If shot accurately though, they could be used for killing, butler." She says knowingly, one eye watching his unmoving form.

"You couldn't possibly be dead by just a kick to the hip, can you?" She laughs lightly as she walks away with a shrug. "Hmph, you've certainly grown weaker."

"Until we meet again, I suppose." She sighs and lets herself out of the ballroom.

There's an all-knowing and ever-confident smirk on his face as he lies on the carpet.

* * *

_That was a week ago._

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A/N: Yes! Prologue is done, and it's longer than I thought. Oh well, I hope I haven't lost Teresa's stubbornness. Read and review! I have missed my readers, and I hope you guys enjoy this one!


	2. Bourgeoisie

**Hell Revisited**

A/N: Ack, can't stop thinking about Renaissance France, guns, seduction, assassination, and death. The result of which is this chapter. I apologize in advance for the lack of description, but I think that my readers are smart, imaginative, fun people. Hello there.

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**One: Bourgeoisie**

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_Sixteen years, mother. It has been sixteen years since I met the eyes of a resident of Hell. I am terrified mother. I am afraid that I might not be able to live another night without seeing blood on my dress. I confess dear mother, she was beautiful, she was enthralling, she was manipulative, she was something far more horrifying than I could have ever imagined. Her eyes were reflecting knives that would often pierce into the back of my neck as she would speak, and her words are nothing close to feathered sheets. Her voice is a shrill dagger pointed to my throat. I often find myself gawking at her, she carries herself so flawlessly; striding in manicured dresses or strutting in lingerie that only the rich may think about. She might be an angel when you look at her from afar, but I fear that the mere vision of her might burn men's skulls and tear their souls away from the earth. She has never aged, mother, she might be an immortal. She might be a god, mother. I might be affectionate towards a god, an affection that the Church would hardly acknowledge. I might give her roses, mother, I might give her diamonds, I might give her the finest Indian silk, and I might even give her my soul._

"What are you writing, boy?" It was she, in all her condescending glory. She stares me down as I covered the letter with my arms. "You should keep indoors, bad weather might come soon."

As if on cue, the rain starts to pour and she fluidly unsheathes a dark-colored umbrella from her side. The dark shadow looms over the both of us, but at least the rain is kept away from us.

"Thank you," I murmur as I clutch my things to my chest, preventing myself from shivering due to a cold breeze.

"You looked deep in your work, it was simple etiquette." She moves her back to me, "Shall we?"

We? We? Is she—?

"A-alright," I muster a small smile, standing to walk with her through the paved walkway.

We kept a conversation, light and friendly despite the heavy atmospshere.

"Would it be inappropriate of me to ask one thing of you?" I faced her, she faced forward.

"It depends," She faced me this time, blue eyes glowing. "What do you ask of me?"

"Would it be foolish of me to ask a kiss from you?"

"It is, dear boy." She chuckles darkly, "But is it what you desire?" She leans close.

"Desire? What—what do you mean?"

She rolls her eyes, "Is it something that you would give your soul for?"

Soul, see mother? I might give her my soul.

"It might be."

"Is it?" She tilts her head downwards, seductively. "Would you trade your soul for a kiss?"

"I would, if it might be something that would.."

"Sell your soul to the devil," She whispered close, hot breath teasing my sweating cheek—I was sweating?

The moment her colored lips met mine, I could have seen angels part the clouds to heaven.

* * *

From afar the picturesque view of a couple kissing within such a foul weather is heartwarming. The picture after, the picture of a man dead on the wet pavement and the woman walking briskly is devastating.

"You should have given him more time with you,"

She stopped, her eyes closed and her lips in a scowl, "I have had enough time with their kind already."

"Live in luxury, die in luxury."

"Live being passed around from man to man, hands and hands over your skin. It's disgusting!"

"You say it as if it's my fault."

"Because it is."

He emerges from the shadowed wall, as common as all assassins, and approaches her. His smirk meets her own.

"I have done no wrong." He says smoothly, brushing his shoulders with a gloved hand.

"Your existence is wrong."

"The way you made that man suffer was wrong."

"What would you have me do," She reveals an elaborately carved gun, "Shoot at his head?"

"It was cruel, all he ever asked for was a simple kiss."

"And he asked from a starving being."

"You should have been more generous."

"I already was."

"Then be a little more kinder."

"Says the one who massacred thousands."

"To the one who held onto anger as she was hauled from man to the other."

He was already a foot from her.

"You disgust me."

"I always have."

"Two hundred years you've made me suffer in this realm."

"I must like having you around, someone to toy with other than these humans."

"That must be the reason you killed him."

"He was nothing."

Half a foot from her.

"Then the pretty bird must be nothing as well."

"She was beautiful, unlike you."

"And he was someone more tolerable than you."

"He smelled foul."

"She smelled of a hundred more."

"He's a coward."

"She's a whore."

"You're pitiful."

"And you must want me."

"Unfortunately you want me."

"Dead and bleeding."

"You are a masochist."

"Then whoever bleeds first loses."

He takes her word as a challenge, stepping ever closer to her, touching his forehead to her. She places the barrel of her gun to the side of his head.

"You are still so gullible." She says before snatching her gun and herself away, running up the brick walls and climbing past the fence of the third-floor balcony.

She leans towards him, against the fence, "Even when you're hiding in the shadows, it's already obvious as it is." She rolls her eyes and drops a wilted rose towards him, "Here's until your death butler."

She smirks as she turns her back to the fence, and she meets his humored gaze, the rose stem in-between his teeth.

"Again, we are—"

He presses close to her and meets her lips with his, stem also. She flushes to him as his hands press on the back of her head and her neck. The thorns press into skin and draw an amount of blood, applying pain to the wet and warm pleasure. He slips his tongue past her lips and below the stem, pressing the muscle to the lower set of teeth, as she sighs in subtle disappointment.

"—at each other's heels." She coughs as she puts a sizable distance between them.

"We shall meet again." It sounds like a promise.

She scoffs, "I'd rather not."

"It's inevitable. You're drawn to me."

She shoves past him, "Like a moth to a dead flame, I am."

"In time, we'll meet again."

"You have high hopes, butler. I might respect that."

"Velvet ropes, satin sheets, and since we're in France after all, a racy set of lingerie." He suggests freely.

"Find a pretty woman in the heart of France, make her feel loved, she will sell her soul to you just because she wants you to be on her once more, have another round, take her soul, and then you can be fully satisfied." She replies in quick, unfazed succession. "Yes?" She cocks her head to the side.

"Poorly."

"Then go back to the bowels of where you came from."

"Harsh."

"I consider this kind." She laughs, "Usually I would try to kill you."

"And usually you would deny your complete adoration for me."

"I have."

"It doesn't seem that convincing."

"What would you have me do, find another mate for you to kill?"

"You could, but that wouldn't happen anyway, there's not a fool in the world for you."

"Except you." She points out in disgust.

"I am simply no match for you."

"Then why go pinning after me?" She exclaims.

"You seem far too interesting and far too dangerous to leave alone."

She turns her back to him and sighs in frustration. "You are one of a kind, butler."

"One hell of a kind, you mean." He impishly suggests as he disappears from her.

"It makes me want to kill you even more." She says before opening the doors, sliding herself into a rich, lavish party.

_Thirteen years left to go._

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A/N: Aaaaah, I can't stop writing prologues. I hate myself for that. Sorry for the late update, I had no access to interest for the past few weeks. Thankfully there's a four-day weekend ahead of me; one day down and three more to go. I plan to update the next chapter within next week, but you know me. Read and review?


	3. Bourgeoise

**Hell Revisited**

A/N: Well this is odd, I should have been updating my other fics, but it seems I'm fixed on this one for now. Anyone to review? No? Then I shall kill myself.

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**Two: Bourgeoise**

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"This? This is absolute trash, mother!"

"If you would just listen—"

"All I've ever done is listen! To all the talk, all the mockery, all the gossip! All I have ever done is listen, what about the things that I want, the things that I want, what about them?"

"What do you want, of all the things in the world, what else could you possibly want?"

"Would it be wrong to say that I want everything, mother?"

"Stop acting so selfishly."

"What if I am selfish mother? What would you make of that?"

"I knew I should've put you in a nunnery."

"You'd lose a daughter."

"I've already lost you in the process of raising you, Alice."

"Like in Carroll's book. This isn't Wonderland, mother."

"What do you think it is, Alice? This is France nearing the turn of the century."

"I know, mother."

"Go pray, Alice."

"I'd rather read Homer's Odyssey."

"The cathedral has its doors opened for sinners and saints."

"I am neither."

"To speak of yourself so highly, Alice, pride shall be your greatest downfall."

"Pride has been everyone's downfall, no matter how they are."

"The cathedral welcomes believers and non-believers."

"The cathedral shuns no one, mother. They're not being realistic."

"The bells ring for the rich and the poor. The windows illuminate the living and the dead. The cathedral is built for sinners, saints, believers, and non-believers."

"Then I shall…pray."

* * *

Her name was Alice, named after the protagonist of Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, and Through the Looking Glass, Mr. Alfred and Mrs. Helena Kingsley were ecstatic at the thought of having a female child. A brilliant investigator, Alfred Nicholas F. Kingsley was a naturally inquisitive man, always questioning and taking pride in his skill to render audiences speechless at his words, until his words were on par with Helena Jules'. Helena Beatrice M. Jules was an intelligent, yet cynical woman, who spent her share of her family's wealth in education and human sciences, often observing at social gatherings and noble parties.

"Would it kill my mother to at take interest in my work?"

The product of curious attitude and cynical prejudgment was her, the eleven-year-old Alice Evette J. Kingsley. Inquisitive as her father, but skeptical as her mother, she spends most of her time in books and periodicals, newspapers and journals, taking note of anything she deems as 'humanly mystical' such as expensive parties ending in ruin, psychopathic killers committing suicide, and conspiracies involving the Royal Family.

"I've spent much time in compiling those files." She sighs, wearing her coat, "When most would be playing Castles and Kings!"

"If my father could only read them," She tells herself as she slides past the back door and into the yard, "He would be proud, so very proud."

She walks to the dirt path, near the lake, and starts towards the cathedral her mother talks about so often.

"What's so special about the cathedral anyway? It's not as if there's a hidden crypt containing the remains of a lost France." She shrugs, and stops, rethinking, "Or maybe it does." She smirks to herself.

She starts to run, ignoring the blurring fog of the morning; she passes manors and couples walking underneath parasols, who smile to themselves. She feels ecstatic, a new mystery to be solved under the Kingsley name, another headline with their name.

"Kingsley discovers hidden crypt in cathedral." She whispers to herself, a smile forming on her face, "Mother would love me." She runs.

The moment she reaches the cathedral's stone pavement, something replaces her ecstatic feeling.

The structure looms above high above her, pointed and frightening, it might the residence of a monster. The cathedral windows have a glimmer of purples, blues, yellows; depicting biblical scenes with eyes that accuse you of sin. In the hazy Tuesday morning, almost no one is seen near the cathedral, the mass is not until midday. The small door within the large, carved doors swings freely as the wind blows past her. It's almost a scene out of a horrific novel, except there is no storm and midnight is far from the present time.

"Ghosts don't exist, Alice, don't be daft." She tells herself, "This is a House of God after all." She threads lightly along the pavement, listening to the rustle of leaves in the autumn trees.

* * *

"Would you believe it, priest? The blood of a thousand is resting within your walls." A darkened figure spins aimlessly by the altar.

An elderly man shouts, holding onto the golden cross for his life. "P-please! I don't know anything! Be rid of me, devil!"

It stops and steps into the light streaming from the large, stained-glass window "Devil? My, you speak such hurtful words, in front of an innocent woman no less." She reveals herself, bloodied and smiling.

"You're a murderer! Admit your sins and repent!" He moves back.

"My, you shun me! The House of God is open for sinners and saints, is it not?"

"Not for devils like you!"

Her eyes darken in shade, from a sapphire blue to an ashen black. "Stop calling me a devil, priest."

"You are!" He shoves the cross to her, "Away from me!"

"Golden ornaments do nothing, priest." She chuckles amusedly, "But I think I'd like a golden choker."

He starts murmuring, an exorcism prayer in Latin, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on the cross.

"Are you praying, priest? At the face of death, you pray?" She almost laughs.

He continues.

She rolls her eyes. "Oh, everyone has done this, you don't have to make yourself suffer."

He repeats, louder and firmer.

"Just tell me where it is, priest. Where are the bodies of those you abolished? They are underneath the structure itself, yes?" She asks, nearly shouting at him.

He continues his fervent prayer.

She sighs in frustration and grabs the poor man by his neck. "Where the bodies of the Ministers of Saint-Mons? Where are they?"

He continues his prayer in a whimper.

"You cannot wish me away, priest. You have no power over me." She shakes him; he stops and tears stream down his cheeks as she asks him this, "If you don't know where the bodies are, then where is the Ministry of Saint-Mons? Where is the passage to Hell?"

"I don't know, I don't know." He whispers, "God have mercy, I don't know." He chokes.

"Pathetic." She throws him to the floor, from where he emits a pained cry, "As all, you're better off dead."

The gunshots ring together with the cathedral bells. Nine o'clock in the morning.

* * *

Alice hears the loud bells, indicating the formal start of the morning. She enters hesitantly, eyes adjusting to the dim lightning. The far sight makes her emit a shrill cry.

The minister was dead and bleeding on the cold marble of the raised area of the altar.

It seemed more like a painting to her actually, the light streaming from the large, circular window created an ethereal feeling of melancholy and the body aligning with the center aisle was murderously perfect.

But who would murder a priest, anyway?

She started walking towards him, to answer a few of her questions, and to see if it was an act of God, sacrificing himself for the sake of France. A third of the way though, she stops feeling terrified. A cold chill approaches her. There was no wind; the small door had been shut closed.

"I smell a murderer with us," A voice startles her, feminine and low-pitched, "Don't you think?" She looks to her left and to her right, no one was there.

"H-hello?" She drawls out, clutching her skirt fearfully.

"Behind you, darling."

She glances behind her, slowly, and sees an elegantly dressed woman at about the age of twenty-five, an elaborately designed hat on her head. She wore different shades of blue.

"Good morning, little girl." She smiles sweetly.

"To you too," She greets back, emptily.

"What brings you here at such an early hour?" The woman asks her casually; walking towards her "Isn't your mother worried?"

"Far from it actually." She replies curtly. Isn't the woman bothered by the corpse in front of them?

The woman stops about two yards away from her, "She must be a very understanding woman."

"She isn't." She mutters to herself.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, I think I should go now." She starts to feel uncomfortable and turns to the door.

"You've just arrived." The woman appears before her, a yard away.

"H-how did you—"

"Weren't you going to pray?"

_How did she know? Well, this is a church after all, people pray—_

"I-I was." She starts backing away, slowly.

"Then pray." She suggests airily as if they were acquaintances.

"Actually I wasn't." Alice replies quickly, stupidly.

"Then why are you here?"

She suddenly found herself unable to answer.

"I-I don't know."

"I apologize for saying this," The woman bows her head a little, "but I despise the three words you've just said."

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"But you're still young, so it's alright." She smiles sweetly, "But when you grow up, make sure to be firm with your answers."

_Does this woman know something?_

Alice avoids her eyes. "Y-yes, of course."

There is a long silence where neither of them moves.

"May I ask you a question?" The woman disrupts the absence of sound, "What is it that you want in this world?"

Her eyes widen at the thought, "Pardon?"

"Do you feel as if you are lacking something in your life? Even for a young girl, you seem educated enough to know what you want and what you need."

What she wants and what she needs, she has never thought of that before.

"Do you wish for power, unlimited wealth, the love of all, respect?" The blue woman continues, "Anything?"

She recalls the discussion with her mother earlier, about an arranged marriage, the tearful separation of her father to work in England, her dream for the Kingsley name to be printed on the newspapers of France and maybe of entire Europe, and her dream for her family to be at the top of the list of Europe's finest investigators.

"I want many things."

"Would you trade your soul to have those things come true?"

_Trade your soul, she never thought—but those things are what make up her soul._

"Would you?" The woman pressed her further.

"I—" She ponders, would she really? All of them sounded quite materialistic and selfish of her. "I think I would." She realizes.

"Be firm, little girl." Her tone was hard and quite cynical.

"Yes," She decides, she would give anything just to make those happen, "Yes I would."

She feels a burn on her palms, it might be sweat, but the weather is damp and cold.

"Would you bargain with a stranger?"

"I would." Yes she would, she might be bargaining with one right now.

"A thief?" The woman raises a thin brow.

Alice pauses, but decides quickly, "Yes." She had nothing to lose.

"A killer?"

She thinks hard, and decides, "Anything to make them real." She would sacrifice if she had to.

"A demon."

She thinks harder for it wasn't a question, "I think I would."

"Yes or no." The woman pressed on, stepping closer to her.

She feels a tightening in her throat; she swallows it down as a bead of sweat trickles down her neck. What is making her feel sick?

"Would you bargain your soul with a demon from Hell?" The woman asked again, her voice dark and somewhat rueful.

Would she? Then that would mean a guarantee in the slots for the boiling Lake of Fire, she wouldn't be labeled a saint if anyone knew. Then again, can she even be called an angel if she doubts the beliefs of most and trusts herself in the writings of others, of excommunicated, non-religious ones? Would St. Peter even smile at her for she doubts Miracles of God and puts her faith in things involving earthly chemicals and human sciences? Does she even have a chance in Heaven?

_"God forgives." Her mother would say._

"I—" She releases it in a gasp, "I would." She tests her words, "Yes, I would." She assures the woman.

The woman gives her a smirk, a sign of approval, before kneeling on one knee and bowing her head with a hand on her chest.

"Then you have my word as Teresa Fiddlewitch, your word is the law that binds me to you, your majesty."

Alice stands, shock-still and blinks her eyes, she must be dreaming.

"A-are you—" Her eyes widen, "Are you serious?"

"As the seal that is imprinted on our hands, I am yours to command." She raises her left hand and removes the black glove, revealing a blue pentagram before a rose printed on her palm. "Your right is as my left."

She follows, still in disbelief, and removes the white glove from her left hand. She stares at the similar design in red ink—blood?—glowing on her palm. She emits a terrified scream.

"This isn't real, this isn't real—" She panics, "I'm asleep and you're not real! A fragment of my imagination from reading too many novels at a time!" She laughs nervously. "This is not real!" She pinches her cheeks and slaps her arms, hoping to wake up from a nightmare, but she doesn't.

"Stop hurting yourself, your majesty. This is as real as the burn you have felt. I am yours to command and yours to keep." She tells her calmly.

"Then all of my dreams can come true?" She asks slowly, her panic settling into a calm.

"Yes, all of them will be true as you tell me to do your will."

"And you can make sure that they will be done?"

"According to your word and according to your heed, it shall be done."

She starts to smile because things might go as she plans them to be, "Then let me welcome you to my mother. Come, Teresa!" She tells the stranger's name for the first time, testing her power.

"As you command, your majesty." Teresa follows her obediently, leaving the dead body of the priest to rot until the midday mass.

* * *

And on another part of the world, a boy watches the fires that dance around his vision, his beloved home burning and burning and burning.

_"The raven flies where it must not, and the childless soul cries where it shall die."_

* * *

A/N: Well, that was a quick update. I just added the previous chapter yesterday. I think I deserve some awesome reviews from awesome readers, don't I? Tell me what you think about it, please? *big smile*


	4. UPDATE

_Hey readers,_

As you might have noticed I have abandoned the supposed rewritten "Onnashitsuji".

I deeply apologize and hope to make it up in time.

I'm currently writing my other fic, "Cancerous", which you guys can read and offer me some feedback because that fic uses one of my new writing styles, which I hope I can also apply to the new "Onnashitsuji".

On the state of Alice, Teresa, and the res of the "Onnashitsuji" universe, I'm plotting out the events and I'm stuck the the Rising Action/ Hopefully I can finish the plot outline by this week, so that I can start writing by this weekend.

Thank you for your support in my fic endeavors. I really appreciate it.

_Creatoriginsane_


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